


What Flowers Grow

by antonomasia09



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Spice (Star Wars), Stasis Poisoning, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antonomasia09/pseuds/antonomasia09
Summary: The years come and go, history repeats over and over. Maz Kanata encounters two identical men, fifty years apart.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Maz Kanata & Hondo Ohnaka, Sidon Ithano & Maz Kanata & CT-6116 | Kix
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	What Flowers Grow

**Author's Note:**

> While helping me brainstorm for another fic, alyyks suggested that Jango Fett probably knew Maz Kanata, and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Infinite thanks to her for the idea, subsequent additional brainstorming for _this_ fic, making sure that Jango was behaving properly, and just general encouragement and beta reading.

“Hondo Ohnaka,” Maz calls, the moment the pirate sets foot on the doorstep of her castle. “I told you that you weren’t welcome here.”

He isn’t alone; a crew of about two dozen is clustered on the steps behind him: mainly Weequay, plus a handful of Devaronians, and a Trandoshan or two. It’s the human that catches her eye, though, fingers drumming restlessly on the blaster holstered at his belt, a sheen of sweat on his face despite the cool temperature outside, and dark eyes darting around like he can’t make them focus on anything for more than a second or two.

There’s one direction he’s avoiding looking: a flag bearing a mythosaur skull hangs to the right of where he’s standing. He’s angled himself slightly so that he won’t accidentally glance at it.

Someone who was afraid of the Mandalorians wouldn’t put their back to the flag. Someone who felt shamed by the symbol might.

She knows what spice withdrawal looks like when she sees it; that’s nothing special. What makes her curious is how tense his body is, how much effort he’s putting into keeping his symptoms under control, the way he neatly dodges an elbow and steps back smoothly when a pair of Weequay next to him get into a rapidly escalating argument over a shiny trinket.

That and the fact that Hondo might be a good-for-nothing charlatan of a pirate king who only respects her rules when it suits him, but even he knows better than to bring an unpredictable junkie into her bar without good reason.

Hondo sees where she’s looking and nods ever so slightly.

“Maz Kanata, my dearest queen,” he says. “Surely you wouldn’t turn away all these thirsty beings who want nothing more than to sate their parched tongues and to enjoy the fine company of the other patrons of your establishment?”

Inside, it has grown quiet, as the rest of Maz’s customers wait for her to render a verdict.

She shouldn’t let him in; it sets a bad precedent for others who try to break her rules. But this human intrigues her, and she wants to know why Hondo has brought him to her.

Maz crosses her arms. “If you or your crew starts another fight, the next time you try to come to my planet you will be shot down in orbit,” she tells him.

“A most fair arrangement,” he agrees, and she steps back to let them in.

Most of the pirates make a beeline for the alcohol, but Hondo beckons the human over, and he comes to sit with them at a table in the corner where it’s quiet enough that they won’t have to shout to be heard.

Up close, he looks even worse. He’s thin, almost gaunt, as if he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks, maybe even months or years. His jacket has a high collar but it’s not quite high enough to hide the still-healing abrasions on his neck. Maz has a strong suspicion she knows what kind of circumstances this man was in before Hondo found and recruited him.

“What is your name?” she asks him, and he hesitates, his eyes flickering to Hondo, around the room, back to her.

“Jango,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s not used to talking.

There are well-established Houses on Mandalore, but given their policy of adopting anyone willing to follow their code, there’s no such thing as a stereotypically Mandalorian personal name. She takes a gamble anyway.

“And your _aliit_?” she says.

He freezes, then shakes his head. “No, that’s not…I have no clan,” he says, and he’s lying-but-not. Trying to convince himself, maybe, as much as her.

There’s loss in his eyes, deep loss. Everyone and everything that this man loves has been stripped from him.

People from all over the galaxy come to Takodana to drink or barter or hide. She herself may not have left the planet in many years, but she knows what happened on Galidraan to the True Mandalorians and Jango Fett. 

“I am sorry for your loss,” she tells him. He hunches as if he’s taken a blow.

Hondo frowns at her. “I didn’t bring him here to reminisce about his past,” he says. “He’s expressed interest in the noble art of bounty hunting. Not nearly so noble as piracy, of course, but not everyone is well-suited to a life of dashing derring-do.”

Jango throws Hondo a grateful look. “You’ve figured out that I’m Mandalorian; that means I can fight,” he says to Maz. “I’m good at tracking, too. Hondo said you’ve got contacts, that you might help me get started.”

“I have contacts, yes,” she says. “I can get you jobs, allow you to build a reputation. But that also puts my own reputation on the line. I will not arrange a job for a man who is not sober.”

Jango’s lips thin, and his shaking hands curl into fists, but she can still see a tremor.

“I was sold to a spice transport,” he says, blunt. “I couldn’t avoid exposure.”

“And have you sought it out since?” she asks.

He shakes his head, but his eyes dart to Hondo’s, nervous.

“It hasn’t been long enough for you to need it,” she says, understanding what he’s not saying.

“I won’t need it,” he says, stubborn. “The medic said it’ll be out of my body in a few more days. I’ll be fine.”

He’s survived the death of his people, and years of slavery. She doesn’t doubt that he will survive withdrawal. Still, she peers at him closely. “Is this truly what you want?” Jango had been mand’alor. That he would settle now for so common a profession as bounty hunter makes her suspicious.

“Yes,” he says. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either, she suspects.

“I would think you would want revenge for what was done to you and the Haat Mando’ade,” she says.

He stiffens, and the shaking in his hands noticeably increases. “Revenge will come,” he says, and _that_ she believes.

Satisfied, Maz nods. “I expect compensation for my services,” she says.

“You know I have nothing,” Jango says, sharp.

Maz has lived for a very long time. She doesn’t need to have visions of the future like a Jedi to know that the man sitting in front of her is capable of setting the entire galaxy in disarray. A person like that, owing her a favor…

“I’ll cover the cost,” Hondo cuts in smoothly, winking at her like he knows what she’s thinking.

“Agreed,” she says, not showing her disappointment. There will be other chances in the future to get what she wants from Jango Fett.

“Excellent,” Hondo says, motioning for a serving droid. “I don’t know about you, but I am more than ready to partake in some of the excellent sustenance your establishment has to offer.”

Hondo may be a worthless son of a bantha. But he has his moments, she thinks.

Jango still looks sickly. Still aching. But there’s an eagerness to him now, a faint light of hope in his eyes, and she can feel the air sing with possibility.

***

“Sidon Ithano,” Maz calls, picking the red mask out of the crowd by the bar. “It’s been too long. I heard you had some excitement on Ponemah recently.”

The Corsair turns when he hears her voice and bows slightly. His crew is seated around him; fewer than she remembered him having last time, and there’s a new one, dressed in black armor from head to toe, with the word “fear” painted across the front of the helmet in Aurebesh.

Something about the shape of the armor looks familiar — maybe if it was a different color?

She’s curious about the man wearing it, too. Ithano is notoriously picky about his crew members, in a way that few pirates are.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new hire?” she says, and the man visibly stiffens. She wonders about the meaning of the word boldly adorning his helmet. Is it his own fear? Is it meant to intimidate his enemies?

When Ithano gives him a gentle nudge, he reaches up slowly with unsteady hands to pull the bucket off.

It’s rare for anything to surprise her anymore. But the last thing she expected to see under that helmet was Jango Fett’s face.

It can’t be Jango himself, she knows; he died fifty-three years ago. But she’d been under the impression that all of his clones were long-dead as well, from the wars or the accelerated aging.

Yet here is Jango’s identical twin. Sickly, sweating and shaking, just like Jango was when she first met him. His eyes aren’t quite focused, although at least they’re fixed somewhere over her shoulder and not constantly skimming around the room. It’s clearly taking a massive amount of effort for him to be upright, but he holds his spine military straight by force of will.

There’s a sense of loss around him so palpable she can nearly taste it, and for a moment, she’s back in time, staring at a dethroned king who is going to make the galaxy burn in payment for what it took from him.

She wants to reach out and touch, to prove that he’s real and sitting in front of her, but she knows better than to startle a soldier.

“Over the years, I have often seen the same eyes in different faces,” she says. “I’ve never before seen the same eyes in the same face.”

At that, he lights up, excitement overcoming some of his exhaustion. It’s a little jarring; she doesn’t think Jango was capable of making such an expression.

“The Corsair was right — you met my brothers?” he says. “You know what happened to them?”

His brothers. Then this is a clone after all. She adds the symptoms up: inability to regulate body temperature, muscle weakness, fatigue, blindness. This isn’t spice withdrawal. This is stasis poisoning from far too many years frozen in carbonite.

“I regret that I never had the honor of meeting any of the brave soldiers of the GAR,” she tells him. “But I knew Jango Fett well.”

“Oh.” He slumps like she cut his strings, his head bowed. “The crew told me what my brothers did to the Jedi. What they did to anyone who opposed the new Empire.” He practically spits that last word. “But Reveth said that she had an aunt in the Rebellion who worked with a few clones, and I hoped... most of the historical records have been lost or destroyed or never even existed, but the captain thought you might know more. That you might be able to tell me what happened to my squad.”

“What is your name?” she asks.

He hesitates. “CT-6116. Kix,” he says. “Medic for Torrent Company, 501st legion.”

The 501st was General Skywalker’s legion, she thinks. The answers he seeks will likely only hurt him further, although the restlessness that comes with not knowing the fate of a loved one means that there is no peace to be found for him.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t help you, Private Kix” she admonishes. “But information comes with a price.”

He hunches further. “I have nothing,” he says, grief sharp enough to sting.

This man is a relic of a bygone era, adrift and alone. A medic, whose first and only care is for his brothers, and who has lost them all. He has nothing that Maz wants, and she is not cruel enough to suggest that he sell himself in exchange for the answers he seeks; he has spent enough time unwillingly in the service of others.

Ithano reaches into a fold of his cloak and wordlessly tosses a bright green crystal onto the table. Kix twitches at the heavy clunk, reaching for a blaster that he’s not carrying.

Maz picks up the crystal, examining it in the dim light. “Where did you find a nova crystal?” she asks. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

Ithano shrugs, and leans back.

“Captain?” Kix says, unable to follow what just happened from her words alone.

Maz smiles a little to herself. Maybe Kix isn’t as alone as she’d thought.

“I accept the payment,” Maz says, and the tentative hope that steals across his face is warm and familiar. “Ask me your questions.”


End file.
